


Guarding the Guardian

by elliejane



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliejane/pseuds/elliejane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Agent Rouka - who wanted Aeryn and puppy doggy fic. This probably isn't really what she was after!</p><p>Originally posted on LJ, back on July 28th, 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guarding the Guardian

In this early morning, hazy grey horizon light, it's hard to believe the day will be a beautiful one. John had said it would be. She suspects the man on the television told him so, but still, he had gone into expressive detail about cloud formations and sky colour, passionate for a moment about his planet and its wonders. Aeryn had nodded obediently as he gestured toward the rosy evening sky and Chiana hung on his every word, still jazzed to be planet-side.

Aeryn looks away from the horizon where the dawn light is shading into day, across to where the sky is still shadowed in night. She inhales the scent of green, living things. There's some wet, fresh quality in this air, which is quite unlike the recycled stuff on Moya. Or on the carriers for that matter. It's not often she appreciates the difference.

Frowning, she looks back towards the big house with its complement of sleeping aliens and friends. She is alert. And _aware of something_. Then she sees it coming, of course, she does. Hears it, too. Hears faint, fast panting breaths, sees the determination in the drumming pace. She is never taken unawares; she has better vision and hearing than the eager humans. _Than their eager animals._ Her hand curves around the space her pulse pistol should be, but comes up empty, nails clenching into bare skin.

This is a dog. A creature. _A critter_. Running fast and smooth across the damp grass towards her, sleek and black, a guided missile. This critter has dark glossy hair lying close against its lithe frame. A streamlined animal, aggressive, built for speed and combat, Aeryn thinks. A faint voice can be heard from nearer the house, and the beast falters slightly, its running action breaking in to an uncertain gait. Slows when it reaches her, stops a short distance away. It turns its pointed nose towards to house. Then back to Aeryn.

Her muscles tense, fingers flex. The creature's breath comes in fast pants, paws shifting indecisively on the wet grass. Muzzle twitching, showing teeth. She has no weapon but her hands. Her body. Her brain. She has no way to judge if she is in danger but it is, she knows, a _guard dog_. A _military_ guard dog. She stands still, watching it watch her. They are watchful, both of them. Each aware of their surroundings, with hair trigger reaction times. With _instincts_.

It pads a few denches forward, head tilting. Intelligent, suspicious eyes. Aeryn stares back, holding the gaze. Not even blinking. The dog emits a low grating rumble from deep in the throat; the growl makes it past the teeth, black lip curling. Pawing at the damp grass and shifting weight again. Muscles bunching, crouching, it growls louder now.

She says sharply, "Stop!"

The word is English; a short, sharp, sibilant bark, which punches into the air around them and halts the dog, freezes the potential attack. She holds eye contact with it again, staring down into liquid brown. It looks back keenly. Its lip curls again and it lets out a rough bark of its own. Aeryn can't discern anything from the sound, no verbal translation, but knows it for an announcement of intent. It is a threat and a promise, and, in a command voice from her Peacekeeper days, she enunciates precisely, "Stop! Now!"

Some sound, a deep grumble, comes from the animal. The look it gives her is still unfriendly. This is not yielding, this is stalemate.

Once again she hears the faint voice; getting closer and more urgent. She and the dog hear the voice again at the same instance, both turning towards the breathless yell.

"Ma'am! Stay still!" The figure of a soldier, a dark uniformed, dark gunned man is running powerfully towards the alien/canine confrontation. He comes to an almost skidding stop on the damp grass a few paces away and never takes his eyes from the dog.

"Buddy. Come!"

The dog slides its gaze back to Aeryn, utters an annoyed growl, but obediently turns and pads back to the soldier. A hand gesture from the man has the critter sitting close and quiescent, and the soldier clips a leash to its collar. Only then does he relax enough to begin what appears to be an apology.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I saw a figure…I didn't think it was the household. It's barely daylight." The man is contrite, and slightly awed, but he still manages to make it sound as if Aeryn should not be prowling the grounds at daybreak.

Aeryn glances up at the sky. When she started out the sun was just barely edging over the horizon, soft light filtering into the sky painting it pale and watery. Now the rays are stronger and streaks of orange and red trail across the lightening blue.

"I like the sun rise," she says carefully. " I find it – interesting."

The morning is fresh, washed by rain, maybe, or that dew water that coats the plant life as the sun rises. She still isn't used to the intense circle of warmth and colour that is the sun. Up till recently she could have counted the number of sun rises she'd seen on one hand. Cold stars in the black of space, yes, but they are rarely this up close and personal.

The soldier obviously isn't equipped for early morning small talk with alien females. He's wary of her, his stance tense again and he's ready to back off now.

"Yes, ma'am."

Aeryn senses his circumspection, but the dog has caught her interest. She will not be distracted by pretty skies or a military bearing this easily. She nods towards the animal.

"It has a name?"

She's genuinely curious. Moya has a name, of course. But she is a sentient being. Not just some 'beast of burden' or 'pet'. But the vorc? She tries to dredge up other memories, other creatures. Does naming depend on the intelligence of the thing being named? But then again, she thinks, John names weapons and vehicles. Perhaps naming depends more on the one doing the naming.

"Yes, ma'am. Buddy."

"Beerdy." She tries the name out on her tongue. "Buh-dee."

The dog's ears twitch at the sound and she gathers she managed a half way decent approximation.

The dog continues to keep her in its sights. The soldier may have relaxed in part when he had the animal secured, but the creature itself is still alert to threat. It quivers a sensitive nose in her direction. It is a banked aggression that is giving her the benefit of the doubt, but only because it has no choice.

The soldier's hand reaches down and smoothes over the dog's head between its ears, a soothing stroke of the palm. The dog nudges its head up, butting into the hand. It is no less alert but its aggression level seems to lessen somewhat.

"Well, ma'am..." The soldier seems hesitant. Unsure of procedure in breaking off communications with the...with her.

"Does touching it serve a purpose?" Aeryn crouches to view the dog from its own level. Sits on her heels, steadying herself with one hand on the damp soil. She's seen members of John's family at play with a dog; a small sandy-coloured, vocal creature that was continually rolling on its back and jumping up. There were happy, laughing voices and hands continually ruffling up its soft coat. But _this_ dog is an entirely different animal.

"Buddy's a he, ma'am. A dog not a, uh, bitch." The soldier's tone is hesitant, and then hurries on before Aeryn can ask what the deal is with the _bitch_. "You stroke a dog to calm it down. Or show affection. Or even as a reward."

The solider eyes Aeryn warily. Aeryn can see by his body language that he's trying not to say any more, so she says it.

"Can I stroke him?"

"Um." The soldier's face coalesces into apprehension. "He's, er, not a pet, ma'am."

Aeryn looks up. "I wouldn't want to make him one." She looks back. Tilts her head to appreciate the fine muscle and strength of the animal.

"Well..." Unhappily, the soldier gently nudges Buddy and walks him the few steps to Aeryn. She raises a slow hand and lets the dog see it coming. Then strokes down one lean leg, before rubbing at a damp paw.

"Paw, Buddy." The paw is lifted as if on remote control, and Aeryn finds herself shaking hands with yet another of Earth's inhabitants. She smiles. Can't help it. Then moves her hand and tries to mimic the smoothing motion on Buddy's head. When Buddy looks at her now it is with less suspicion. It appears the solider has vouched for her in some way. She smiles again, and Buddy bumps at her hand with his brow.

"I think he likes you, ma'am."

Aeryn rubs once or twice more for good measure, then sighs and rises. Buddy's nose follows her as she straightens.

"I like him, too."

The soldier hesitates and then says, "In that case you could say 'Good dog, Buddy.' It shows he's done well. That you're pleased with him."

Aeryn looks down at the dog, all sleek blackness and glossy shine. "Good dog, Buddy, " she enunciates slowly. The dog lets out a small approving whine.

It is the soldier's turn to smile, now. "Thank you, ma'am." He nods and turns to leave, Buddy keeping in close to his leg, both of them as disciplined as each other.

Aeryn watches them then turns back to the fully-fledged day, all bright yellows and pale blues. She's been taught the mechanics of it, but still finds it amazing that something so beautiful brings life to existence. She's amazed she finds it beautiful. She likes the dichotomy of how essential is and how lethal it can be. How beautiful and how deadly. Sun burn. Heat stroke. She feels mildly smug that humans are not as blithe about heat tolerance as John makes out.

The sun gleams softly and she is outlined against the sky, dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket. To the soldier, who has turned to watch her for a moment, she is a silhouette of black, of strengths and strangeness. She has her own discipline. Her own aggressions. She stands in the grounds of the house for all the world as if it is she who guards its inhabitants. As if it is she who stands between them and the world, and not he and his squad.

He sighs, slides his hand to rub Buddy's ears, and continues on his way.

fin


End file.
